


A Way Way Forward

by RaithnaitRouze



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Add tags as I go, Branch Connally Redemption Arc, Branch is a racist selfcentered asshole at the begining, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Time Loop, Time Travel, no beta we die like clone troopers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaithnaitRouze/pseuds/RaithnaitRouze
Summary: Branch Connally dies at the hands of his father. He didn't see it coming and he wasn't expecting to wake up. Somehow, he has to decide what to do about that, which adds to all the other raging issues in is life. Like his Dad, Walt, Cady and Jacob Night Horse. Well at least no one will remember it if he decides to run over David Ridges... He's getting tired of waking up after he dies.
Relationships: Branch Connally & Henry Standing Bear, Branch Connally & Victoria "Vic" Moretti, Branch Connally & Walt Longmire, Walt Longmire/Henry Standing Bear, Walt Longmire/Victoria "Vic" Moretti, Walt Longmire/Victoria "Vic" Moretti/Henry Standing Bear
Kudos: 5





	1. We can dance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [history repeats, repeats, repeats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22509889) by [peltonea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peltonea/pseuds/peltonea). 



His father's hard angry blue eyes are the last things that he sees before the shotgun goes off against his head. Then darkness. The howling, whirling grasping hands of the winds.

Ringing. Incessant, persistent ringing. Branch tried to move and to his surprise he rolled over. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around in confusion.He was… He was home. Laying in his bed. He rolled back over and sat up. He was in pajama bottoms, his favorite worn,soft and striped blue cotton pants that he had owned for years. 

Maybe this was the afterlife. It was strikingly normal, off puttingly so. The ringing started up again, and it took a few moments for him to realize that it was actually his phone ringing. He started at the offending piece of technology on the wooden bedside table stupidly. Who would be calling…

He reached over and picked up the iphone and swiped right with his thumb. 

“Hello?” His voice was dry and rough, so he cleared his throat self consciously.

“Thank the Fuck! Are you not answering your phone now? Jesus. We need you down at the closed down ski resort.”

What? Vic?

“What?...Vic?”

“Eloquent this morning aren’t we? I don’t care how much you had to drink last night. I’m not doing this by myself. Get your ass over here, we got a body.” Vic said and then promptly hung up before Branch could even think of a reply.

Dead body… Vic… Work?

That had definitely been a work call. As professional as Vic ever got. Why the fuck was he getting a work call. That seemed like something that would have stopped after he was dead. Never mind the fact that he hadn’t worked at the Durrant PD for weeks now. Maybe this was some weird version of purgatory like on LOST.

He supposed there really was only one way to figure out what was going on. Branch had proven when to himself and everyone else that he could be dogged in pursuit of a mystery that bothered him, and well now he didn’t really have much else to do. No other options seemed to jump out at him. So he got dressed. Found a clean uniform shirt hanging in the closet, to his surprise because it hadn’t been there when he had left his house… this morning?.... Yesterday morning? How was he supposed to tell time now? Would it lose relevance now?

He got dressed, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

{{{}}}

He pulled up the closed down ski basin. Vic, Walt and Ferg’s vehicles were already here. He parked at the back of the convoy as the last to arrive. That was fine by him.

It was weird. This was the exact same place where those high school kids' murders had started. What kind of idiot would use this as their murder site, or dump site. Maybe he was just taking things to literal, getting back into the rhythm of work that he had established after many years on the job. Maybe this was just how purgatory thing worked or something… He didn’t want to think about it too hard. So he got out of his car and started walking up the slight slope, following the worn dirt path to the main lodge.

He didn’t see or hear anyone. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a shiver raced down his spine. It was erie, silent with that twisting sense of deja vu that made you hesitate and second guess your every decision. It was like the world was off center, or maybe it was spinning in the wrong way. Everything was the same but nothing felt right. His stomach churned and he became dizzy, his eyes were having trouble focusing, his throat felt tight, his hand began to shake. It was, he realized with mounting horror and a growing sense of helplessness, drastically similar to what he felt while being on Peyote. The fear froze him in place, he closed his eyes jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes until the red and white spotted fireworks going off under his eyelids began to spin and he felt like he was falling; being dragged into the abyss.

He staggered, losing his balance and falling forward. A hand clamped around his forearm steadying him. 

“Branch, you okay? Don’t look too good.” Walt grumbly voice asked from very close by.

Branch opened his eyes and there indeed was Walt standing next to him peering down at him with concern. Branch was pretty familiar with that expression being on Walt's face and being direct at him ever since Ridges shot him.

He didn’t like it… 

Okay maybe that wasn’t a hundred percent true, he liked the part that meant after everything Walt gave a damn about his ass. His dead ass now. At least this weird apparition of dream Walt still cared.

He tried to smile at the facsimile of the man he knew, but his face felt stiff and by Walt’s deepening frown didn’t think it turned out too well. He tried to speak and ended up coughing. The state of anxious distress he had been in since his awakening that morning had left his mouth dry and throat tight.He cleared it and tried again.

“Fine,” it came out coarse and gravelly and he winced with discomfort and embarrassment, “Fine, Walt just a slow start to the day.” And boy howdy, that was such an under exaggeration that it was basically lying.

Walt was still frowning, sweeping his eyes up and down Branch attempting to discover what it was Branch wasn’t telling him. Branch hoped he found something, it might help him understand what was going on himself but Walt just grunted at him and turned away.

What kind of person communicates in grunts and shrugs, it was lazy and nonsensical and annoying as shit. He ground his teeth and followed after the mans retreating back.

They made their way around the building and up over to the other side where the start of the sky lifts were. Branch felt his stomach plummet. It wasn’t a new case, it was that same damn case with the indian girl’s rapist getting shot. He wondered what he was supposed to do with this. Pretend to solve the case, work it like last time, blurt out who the killer was. He looked around for a clue maybe something would tell him what to do. What he wouldn’t give for some fucking directions. Instead he saw Vic with her messy ponytail and sunglasses smirking over at him. He flipped her the bird, and her smile widened in response:all teeth. He knew that meant he need to run in the other direction. 

Branch went through the motions of the case. He helped collect samples, take pictures, catalogue evidence, watch the first responders place the kid in a body bag, load him up the ambulance, he got in his car, drove to the kids parents house, went back to the office, conferred with Walt and Vic. Though the whole process he felt numb and disconnected like he was standing still while the world was going on around him.

He had forgotten about the other kid getting shot that same afternoon, he could have sworn that it had happened on the next day, but lots of things had happened since and all he really remembered about the case was the fight with Walt and Walt being right once again about the indian kids being innocent. It had been a shit case.

He headed out to the next crime scene. When he pulled up he realized he had skipped the fist fight with Walt. He couldn’t even remember what it had been about. His educated guess said Cady, wasn’t this around the time Walt had learned about the two of them.

The second crime scene held no more surprises then the first and by the time they wrapped up there the suns had been down for a couple hours. He drove back to the office dropped off the evidence and start on the paperwork.

At the end of the day nothing had changed about his situation and Branch wasn’t tired, he hadn’t eaten all day but he wasn’t hungry either. He didn’t want to go to his cabin and he didn’t want to stay here but he didn’t know where he wanted to go either so he left the old police station and just walked. Down main street and on out of town. He walked until he saw the flickering red sign on the dancing red pony and thought that maybe a bar would be a good place to be.

The inside of the bar was surprisingly empty with only a couple patrons dotting the room. He could see Henry behind the counter scrubbing angrily at glass in the small sink behind the counter. It was odd… because the sink he was using was not for dish washing, it was tiny. Branch took a moment and decided he didn’t really care. That about summed up his entire mental state since this whole… whatever, started. Since the shotgun... Since his father...

Now he needed a drink, needed to drown that though or he would throw up, roll over and never get up. So he sat at the bar, ordered a couple shots of whiskey. They burned going down but it wasn’t enough, so he ordered four more.

The shot where set and poured in front of him but when he went to grab for one they were pulled from his reach. He looked up into the dark brown eyes of the Cheyenne man.

“What.” it came out gnarled and short. He scrunched his face in distaste. He thought back over the day and realized he hadn’t said a word since leaving Greg's parents' house. He probably hadn’t come across as real sympathetic.

“You are very quiet tonight, I hear you have been very quiet all day today. It makes a man wonder. I would have thought you would have a lot to say about the events going on today.” Henry’s voice was mild, but then again it was always mild, extremely well manned and precise. A front, he knew the man could be fucking vicious.

“Nope.”It came out sounding less like rocks mating and more like a bullfrog with a lifelong pack a day habit. Improvement but still ugly.

Henry hummed. Branched reached over for his shots, this time Henry let him have them. 

“I would have thought these murders would bring out the competitive, small minded, enthusiasm you like to throw around.”

Branches head snapped up and he glared at the older man.

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?”

“You do not like Indian-” Branch made a noise to try to object, but Henry continued on, “-s and it would be no stone on your back to turn this investigation into a political minefield. You are heavily invested in the election so I am merely stating my surprise that you have not used this opportunity.”

Branched pushed the shot he had in his hand away suddenly feeling sick. Fuck. That sounded like… He swallowed bile. He was not his father. He. Was. Not. That. Man.

“I don’t give a fucking damn about the stupid fucking election. I don’t want it okay. Walt is the better cop, okay? He gives a damn about these people and he makes a fucking difference. I know.” He looked up and met Henry’s eyes, “I fucking know I didn’t deserve the job, didn’t really want the job. Just thought it was the thing to do.” He sank his head down onto his forearms and onto the polished wood bar-top. He felt exhausted.

“And Cady?”

“Fuck man, what do you want to hear. I loved her okay, she’s somethin else, all fire and brightness, and she cares too damn much about everyone else. Maybe I didn’t deserve her but I wanted to.” He tilted his head to the side so that one eye could peek up at the man. “Answer suit you Pops.”

Henry was frowning down at him, not in anger, more like… consideration. The man tended to frown a lot. Must come from being friends with Longmire for so long. Or having to talk to your sudo daughters ex boyfriend. Either way the man had an exhausting life. Branch sat there in silence for a while, gloriously thinking of nothing.

“I am surprised, I did not expect such an answer from you.” 

Branch turned to the man bitter and affronted. 

“Thought I was dating her to get back at Walt. Come on man, I may be an asshole but I'm not a complete dick.” he took the next shot and downed it.

“No, I suppose you are not. And the election? I would not have guessed you thought so highly of Walt.”

“Fuck you.” He jabbed a drunken finger into the other man’s dark shirt. “I see shit, I know, I can learn. And yeah I might have thought it was something i wanted but that was when Walt went on the bender after… Fuck,” he whispered to himself, he tried again “after his wife died and he checked out, coasting though life. It fucked him over man and we could all see it. Cady wanted him to retire and it just fucking sounded right. But now-,” He laughed, it was hollow, rough and a little wet, he tried not to care how he sounded, “I wouldn’t touch the damn position if you paid me to take it. No- it’s Walt’s, He’s a good man, he’s good. He’s good- He’s good to me.” He choked and stumbled over the last reiteration. The echoes of the fight with his father, his defense, his loyalty to Walt. It had killed him.

And he was crying. Not pretty crying either or a little sting of the eyes but full blown shoulder shaking sobs. He hunched further over and tried to hide himself, hide from the eyes he knew were watching, but he couldn’t stop the waves of anguish, the shame and self hated, betrayal and pure shock of everything. Why did he have to be a Connally: his fathers son. He crumpled off the barstool and onto the floor, he grabbed his head pulling hard on his hair before curling into a ball with his head tucked into his knees gasping for breath as he screamed the emotions out.

His father. The shotgun. Martha Longmire. David Ridges. His father's angry hate filled face. Pain. such pain. His chest burned with it. He clawed at his chest until strong arms pulled him up wrapped around him and held him still. 

“It hurts,” he threw his head back as far as it would go, “it hurts.” his voice was soft broken but at least it didn’t sound completely disgusting anymore. “Why does it hurt.” 

“Breathe Branch, you must breathe.”

And Branch left behind all dignity and passed out in the arms of Henry Standing Bears.


	2. Nope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Branch is less on shock and more cranky... sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts. Nothing major but just in case.

Branch woke with a pounding headache. His mouth tasted sour and his tongue throbbed with how dry it was. 

He was hungover.

He hadn’t been this bad since, well he hadn’t ached like this since getting shot by Ridges, he didn’t think he had ever experienced an actual hangover so god awful before… 

He groaned and rolled over onto his side and then fell off the bed and onto the floor. With a muttered curse he opened his eyes and looked over. Not a bed, a couch, a slightly familiar couch with threadbare blankets flung over the back that he couldn’t quite place. He looked down at his clothes. Everything was still on, except his boots, so not a booty call then. He shook his head trying to remember but quickly stopped when it made the pounding in his head worse and brought out the ache in his throat he hadn’t been aware of.

Someone behind him cleared their throat. It made his throat pulse with pain at in sympathy. What the hell had he gotten up to last night. He turned to look over his shoulder from his rather undignified position on the floor.

Henry was standing in the doorway, he held a cup of coffee in his hands but he wasn’t drinking, just staring at Branch silently. Branch silently cursed the man in his head. Henry’s face was unreadable, his thoughts obscured by the dark eyes and prominent Indian features. 

He pushed himself up off the ground and painfully onto the couch. Everything hurt to move. He looked over towards Henry and it looked like the man had taken a couple of steps towards him while he was distracted.

Henry wordlessly offered him the coffee in his hand. 

Branch took a test sip, it was black, slightly sweet and warm; he drained the rest and then held the warm cup up to his throbbing temple.

“You look better than I expected for a man who hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness.” Henry’s deep even cadence wound its way through his brain.

“Yeah.” he grunted.

“That was not the way I expected that conversation to go.” Henry said.

“Fuck you man... I can’t even with you right now. Just-”he waved his hand in the air without opening his eyes. “Fuck off or something.” He fumbled the now cold cup onto the coffee table and leaned back into the couch wondering if he could find himself back into unconsciousness again.

“Then I guess you don’t want these then.”

Branch reluctantly opened his eyes to squint at the other man. His eyes fell onto a full glass of water and two little red pills. 

He took the offered items: throwing back the pills and guzzling the water till it was gone. His head pounded worse for it, but he knew it would help… eventually. He curled back up on the sofa burying his head in his arms.

“Shit. Fine, thanks or whatever..” he mumbled through his arm, praying that Henry would take the hint and leave him alone. He felt the couch dip as the stupid motherfucking Indian sat down.

Not fucking today.

He scrambled to his feet and almost ended up on his ass. The empty coffee cup smashed on the ground. He didn’t care.

The room swayed and his head pounded, but he had felt worse after Ridges, so he stumbled his way out of the room, then out the bar. He cursed when he remembered that he walked here. He gritted his teeth and headed back to the station.

It wasn’t a terribly long walk but Branch was regretting all of his life choices once more as he huffed and puffed his way up the stairs.

Ruby is the only one in when he gets to the office and he ignores her judgmental stare and heads back to the supply closet for a clean uniform shirt. After he’s changed and scrubbed his face, brushed his teeth with his finger and swished water ineffectively around his mouth. He still tasted death on his tongue as he grabbed a cup of coffee that Ruby must have made, then retreated to his desk. 

He sat there trying to decided if he wanted to figure out what the fuck was going on or to see if he could get himself blackout drunk again. The last time hadn’t really worked out all that well.

He had just about decided to leave and try to see if somewhere else would be better than this when Vic and Ferg walked in. Ferg sat down in his typical quiet way with a murmured good morning. Vic came and sat her ass on his desk and loomed over him.

“Can you not.” He said tempted to shove her off his desk but decided that his stomach would end up all over his shoes if he tried. It had been rolling like the sea in a storm since he stood up from Henry’s couch.

“Well aren’t you charming today? And so handsome? What did you do? Sleep on a park bench with your only friend Jack Daniels?” Her nasally voice grated on him.

“Can’t you be nice to anyone besides your precious Walt for a goddamn minute?” He flung at her with as much venom as his aching ass could manage.

“Branch,” came the sharp reproof of the man himself, “My office. Now.”

Branch groaned in annoyance. Vic was staring a little horrified at Walt. Serves her right for being so fucking annoying so damn early. He emptied his coffee then poured himself a fresh cup before entering Walt's office.

“Is this an open or closed door conversation? Because I’m just going to say I don't think I can handle the latter this morning.” He went and draped himself over the leather couch, flinging an arm over his eyes to block out the sun.

He heard footsteps and the door close softly. 

He was tempted to walk out the side door to avoid this conversation like he did the last. Which was an inspired thought.

“Henry called you? That nosy motherfucker.”

“Branch.” Walt’s voice conveyed so many emotions with that one word. He didn’t think he knew anyone who could say his name like Walt. Granted most of the time he thought the man wanted to strangle him with his bare hands, but the sentiment still stood. “He was worried, said you had a panic attack and passed out?” 

The silence hung between them cloying and heavy. Branch didn’t have any answers that he was willing to think about let alone say. Not even Walt's genuine concern could breach that gulf. He clenched his jaw in discomfort.

“If, ah-.” Walt stumbled through awkwardly, “If this has to do with Cady…” He broke off hesitant, unsure.

Branch laughed in at the walking contradiction that was Walt, but quickly stopped because it made his head pound and stomach protest.

“Please Walt, let’s not do this today.” He said after a moment. 

He forced himself to sit up and look at the man. He looked almost exactly how Branch had imagined him: big frame tucked into a chair hunched over, wringing his hands, eyes worried beneath his bushy brows. Walt opened his mouth, but Branch could already tell that he was going to keep pushing so he cut him off.

“It’s work time and we have kids dying left and right. Why don’t I go and work? I'm sure there are people to interview and paperwork to be filled out.” He stood shakily as he talked. Walt rose with him and held out a hand like he was concerned that Branch was going to fall. To be fair, Branch himself wasn’t sure either.

He did have to wonder how bad he really looked, last time it had taken getting shot, drugged and almost dying to get Walt to hover this badly.

When he was steady enough, he turned to the door that led back into the station instead of out into the street. 

“Branch,” Walt called out halting him and signed heavily, “Why don’t you go grab us some breakfast and coffees from the Buzy Bee and I will meet you out front and we can re-interview the other Boys parents together.”

Branch made a face at the door. The offer was a translucent effort at keeping a close eye on him and he didn’t really want to spend time with Walt in close quarters. Unfortunately, he didn’t really know where else to go either.

“Okay.” he said, and swiveled around and headed towards the side door instead. “Your usual?” He asked over his shoulder.

Walt huffed a short laugh behind him.

“Yep.”

And Branch was out the door. He ordered the usual for Walt and a couple of waffles for himself and two of the largest coffees: Black for Walt and sugar for him. He wasn’t hungry but figured it would be enough to keep Walt off his back and maybe, help settle his stomach if he was lucky. 

By the time he made it back to the station Walt was waiting in his borrowed truck. Branch climbed in setting the food between them. 

{{{{}}}}

The interviews are long and boring. Branch doesn’t pay attention, he doesn't talk, he doesn’t contribute in any way until they're sitting in the blonde kids house, Rich he thinks he remembers, he watches as the kid jitters on the couch under Walt’s stare.

“It must have impacted your social life, the rape charges? Bet none of the girls will even look at you now.” Branch cuts in, no idea where the conversation was at but throught the words at the kid.

Walt jolts in surprise at Branches voice when it breaks in.

‘What? I mean- well yeah of course. Who wants to be with a perceived monster. That’s why you ruined my-” Rich stutters then begins to hound Walt again before Branch cuts him off once more.

“That must burn, having a girl drop you like a cheap bag of trash.” He can hear how cold and detached his own voice sounds.

The kid jerks his head back and hunches his shoulders as Branch lands the verbal blows.

Walt shakes his head as the parent goes to explode, Branch cuts him off too.

“Your life is ruined, no friends, no future. You're hurting and tired. You want to die but you thought, maybe this way you could restore a bit of yourself, but killing these boys now won’t make up for the horrible events that night.” as the words come out of his mouth, he realizes he might not be just talking to the boy anymore.

Then the kid explodes to his feet screaming.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY DID TO ME! YOU DON’T KNOW! THEY DESERVE TO DIE FOR EVERYTHING.” Rich’s father caught him around the waist and tried to shush the kid.

“I can do this. I can stop them. I can stop it all.” He was begging at the end, and Branch, he just felt tired again: hallowed out and aching.

Walt stood up.

“Rich, I'm putting you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right-.” Walt droned on as he pulled the kids father off and cuffed the sobbing kid.

He shot Branch an agitated look and jerked his head toward the door. Time to go.

Branch stood and proceeded Walt and the kid out the door. He felt like he was floating again; head in a fog.

They brought the kid back to the station. Branch could feel Walt stewing beside him; anger and confusion building. As soon as the cell door closed on the kid, Branch made his hasty retreat, throwing some sort of excuse over his shoulder as he made his way out the door and to his truck.

Drinking seemed like a spectacularly good idea right now. Anywhere Walt, Vic, or anyone else would not be. So he shot down the highway going out of town. There were a couple of dive bars that he hadn't been to in awhile. 

He pulled into the dark, dirt packed parking lot. There were a dozen or so vehicles there already but he doubted it would be crowded, it wasn’t that kind of place.

He pushed his way through the dirty, low lit bar and onto a stool. The shots went down with a quick burn, but did nothing to stem the questions and realizations that had lodged themselves in his brain when he had spoken up at the kid’s house.

He was for whatever fuck up reason re-living a part of his life. He knew it wasn’t a dream or a drug fuel vision. He hand enough experiences with both of those things; thank you very fucking much. And whatever else was happening here, he was alone: no friends to count on and no bright future to look forward to. Not with his father’s insidious shadow tainting everything.

He took his last shot, tossed some money on the bar and stumbled his way back to his truck. 

Only living could be this miserable. Only in life did he feel so fucking suffocated and weight down. Being here or being there, confronting his father, nothing really changed. He was alone in this fucked up situation, the only one with knowledge of the monster his father was; the horrible things he had done for himself, for Branch. And the gut wrenching knowledge that he was just like his father, just like everyone claimed. 

He stumbled over his feet and fell into a vehicle in the dark parking lot as he struggled to catch his breath. 

Panic attack. 

The knowledge didn’t help him calm down, the opposite in fact. He sagged to the ground, hand pressed to his chest, eyes closed. He tried to slow his breathing, to push away the overwhelming fear, but it seemed like the more he tried and the more he fought, the bigger and more overwhelming it grew. 

His vision was greying out and his head was getting heavy and floaty at the same time. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing: for everything to stop.

Hands were at his shoulders shaking him roughly as voices floated above him, but nothing penetrated through the fog clouding his thoughts.

His eyes snapped open when someone slapped his face roughly.

He jerked back in horror as David Ridge's face and severe frown appeared inches in front of him. 

Branch heaved in a sharp breath of surprise then scrambled to his feet. He stumbled away and Ridges seemed like he would follow, reaching a hand out to grab him. Branch lurched and fled away from Ridges. His mind racing with a new fear.

He had barely turned and taken a step when bright lights blinded him before he felt himself flying. His landing was jarring and he slid across the ground. It was only when he stopped moving that the pain began to register in his mind. 

He wanted to scream, but only managed a wet cough. He blinked and there were hands on him in the dark. He turned his head and coughed up a wet liquid that could only be blood. The pressure and pain in his chest was incredible. Every breath resulted in a wet, gagging cough.

Lights seemed to be moving towards him and more hands prodding at him. It probably should have hurt but everything was starting to feel cold. The panic from before draining away to the steady calm knowledge that he was dying.

Ridges face appeared over him again and Branch couldn’t help the flinch at the sight of him.

Ridges face was all sharp edges and angry intensity. Mouth down turn and black eyes narrow and hard. He crouched down lower to the ground and Branch noticed others around, although he couldn’t see any faces.

The terrible irony of dying because he was running away from Ridges was almost enough to break through the unnatural calm enveloping him.

“If you weren’t a racist white boy, you might have lived.” Ridge’s voice was soft, controlled.

Branch chuckled, except it turned into a cough and blood sprayed out of his mouth and the pain resurfaces clearing some of the fog.

“Din’t run cause- indian... Face's fucking terrifying man. Should get tha’ fixed.” Branch painted out the words through the blood.

Ridges eyebrows quirked and he looked bewildered. It was the most expression he had ever seen on the other man's face. Branch couldn’t help himself, he was fascinated by the twitching of his cheek and slight widening of the eyes.

“Are you making a joke right now? That seems unwise.” The confusion even echoed in his voice and it made Branch want to crow in triumph for finally, finally coaxing a reaction out of this son of a bitch.

“Dyin-, seem thing ta do. Ridges?”

Ridges frown deepened, eyebrows pinched at his name. He reached and hand down and wiped the blood from the corner of Branch’s mouth.

“You know me little Conally?”

Branch blinked and tried to get some air, but things were getting fuzzy. When he opened his eyes Ridges was closer, his hand must have still been touching his face: he couldn’t feel it. 

“Don’.” He started coughing and his eyes felt heavy. He was thinking about just resting for a second. Ridges face was moving making actual human expressions. Rolling though different emotions: Confusion, anger, fear and if Branch’s messed up brain wasn’t wrong, concern. He doubted it was for himself, but still...

Branch came to the abrupt realization that David Ridges was a human being. A messed up, awful human being but not the terrifying thing, specter, that had haunted, haunted, and provoked so much fear in Branch.

He felt amused that this death, with Ridges hovering over him, was better than the last: at the hands of his father. A cold day had reached hell indeed. He was almost happy to up and see Ridges. He smiled, Ridges blanched, jerking back slightly then pressing forward. His mouth was moving but Branch heard no words.

Branch closed his eyes.

Branch opened his eyes and felt the sheets gathered around him and looked at his familiar bedroom. He rolled over to the side of the bed and retched onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not how Branch was going to die. I needed Ridges to be there but the two of them took over the whole freaking scene. Branch was supposed to die pissed at Ridges so he would go pick a fight when he woke up, but now I have to go figure something else out.
> 
> I have most of this plotted out but it’s pretty fluid so if anyone wants to see something happen in one of the takes let me know.
> 
> I am open to constructive criticism. I am using this story as a creative writing exercise. So see any errors let me know.


End file.
